


The Good German

by FassAvoySub



Category: James McAvoy - Fandom, Michael Fassbender - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Brotherly Love, Diary/Journal, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, Language Barrier, M/M, Male Friendship, Psychological Torture, Soldiers, World War II, anti-war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27507820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FassAvoySub/pseuds/FassAvoySub
Summary: Michael is a Gunnery Sergeant in a small german Fort at the beginning of WW2. The first night his crew manages to shoot two british enemy planes with their FLAK cannon, one pilot, James, can manage to get out with a parachute and is brought to Michael's Fort... and instantly touches something inside him.
Relationships: Michael Fassbender/James McAvoy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Cuxhaven, September 3rd 1939

'Britain has declared war. So the rumours in the mess have become true. They've been around here at Fort Kugelbake for days and I can't say I'm happy about it...  
Of course, I'm soldier in the Artillery, three years now, but now we're talking business. I don't even dare to imagine how my Mother might feel today. Luckily our Fort is not that important, but does that mean that we won't be affected one way or another?'

Sergeant Fassbender closed his personal diary, grabbed his tobacco and slowly started to make a cigarette of it. He was amazed how calm his fingers were since the Declaration of War had hit him quite unprepared.  
For years and years Germany had done what it wanted and Great Britain had granted everything, be it the annexion of the Sudetenland, be it Austria coming into the Reich or the rebuilding of the Wehrmacht. But Hitler's raid of Poland was the one drop too much.

Fassbender exited his quarters and lighted his cigarette. It had really been only a matter of time, he thought while gazing into the grey sky and slowly exhaling the smoke through his nostrils. His composure seemed cool, but inside his head the thoughts were chasing around wildly. What was he supposed to tell his FLAK-crew?  
He was the Sergeant, meaning he was what was called "The Mother of the Crew". He was their strong shoulder. and their open ear, not only their commanding officer... well, strictly spoken he WAS the commanding officer of the Fort, because he hadn't seen Lieutenant Commander Janssen for months now. Fassbender didn't even know if he was still existing.

He flinched when the heat reached his fingers and burnt his skin. Fassbender let the stump drop and ground it between the floor and the heel of his boot. His thoughts were still running through his head and he slowly crossed the court, heading towards the small guardhouse on the dyke. The guard stood straight and let him pass.  
Slowly, almost like in Trance, he walked towards the old Kugelbake and gazed out to the sea. The swift duning waters had always been calming for him and he loved to sit on the dyke during his service free time and watch the slow back and forth of the tides. But today he didn't have that much time. Appeal was in an hour and he had to swear his boys into war. A soft smile rushed over his face.  
His boys. Fact was, his FLAK-crew were young guys, most of them maybe 18 or 19, making himself feel like an old man with his age of 25. But nonetheless everyone of the boys dearly loved him and there wasn't even one who wouldn't have given his life for 'The Sarge' or for 'Mother Fassi'.

Michael sat down on the dyke, slowly making another cigarette. He needed three tries to light it in the strong wind here. After smoking half its length he had made a decision.  
He wouldn't spare them the truth. He would tell them that they were at war now and he would explain them, what that was meaning. He would tell that there surely wouldn't be a quick victory and that the supremacy of the german Reich was hardly more than a fairytale.  
He knew these stories only too well, coming from a soldier's family. He still remembered his uncle and his grandfathers returning from the Big War, being crippled either on body or soul. He'd never forget his mother's father and his shaking and screaming from time to time. Michael closed his eyes and dragged on his cigarette.  
No, war wasn't heroic, war wasn't a game and it surely didn't deserve the romantic notion it had gotten over the centuries.  
One last time he deeply inhaled the blue smoke before grinding the butt into the dyke with his heel. He had to get back. Wouldn't make a good impression when the Commander was late for the appeal.


	2. Chapter 2

Cuxhaven, September 3rd 1939

'The crew took it with mixed feelings. That was totally expectable. Most of them are still boys, in mind and heart alike, and I saw fear and worries in many eyes. But we're all in this together and will serve the best we can do. I mean, honestly, what can happen up here? In all it's long history this little Fort guarding the mouth of the Elbe never had to do much when it came to battle.'

Again he closed his diary and looked out of his little window. It was slowly getting dark and another day was ending. Despite the declaration of war it had been a quite day after all, boring in fact. The timetable of the guards was set, the FLAK had been made ready - just in case - and all over the place there were now small groups forming, doing nothing more than simply stick together and talk.

It was a lot they had to handle now, Fassbender knew that. One boy of 18 years, a young private had left his quarters about an hour ago. He was quite new here, maybe three weeks now, and soldier hardly longer. Michael's words this morning had totally shattered him and a few hours later he had knocked on Michael's door, shaken by worries for his family living in the Ruhrgebiet. Fassbender knew that this was a big strategic aim for the enemy. Most of Germany's heavy industry was there. He also knew, Hamburg and Bremerhaven would be a strategic aim because of the harbours. Silently he thanked the Lord that his family was living in Heidelberg, far away from this. So he tried his best to calm the young Private, Johannes Steiger, who was crying his eyes out for hours. Michael let him. He didn't know how he might feel in this situation, but he knew, he would also be grateful for a strong shoulder to lean on. Michael had told him he should sit down and write a letter to his mother and should try to write regularly. "As long as you get letters from home you don't need to worry, boy. And as long as your Mother gets your letters, she won't have to worry either." The memory of the embrace from the boy still warmed him. Maybe he should follow his own guidance and write a letter to his parents.

The shrill alarm in the early morning made Fassbender wake up instantly and barely a minute later the loud bang of the FLAK made the whole Fort shake. His ears were ringing and he staggered towards his sink to put cotton wool into his ears. During flight alarm no light was to be made and who knew how often the cannon would fire 'til he found his protectors.

The second bang shook the Fort. A smile rushed over his face and he felt a little bit of pride. For this late hour and the bad light his boys were pretty fast. He jumped into uniform and coat and left his quarters. Immediately he heard the deep hum of plane motors over the Fort. The cannon banged a third time and in its light the court was like in broad daylight for a moment. Michael looked up and saw two planes in the searchlights. They flew low enough to see their sign. 'English!' rushed through his mind. The Tommies didn't lose any time.

Another shot roared and Michael saw the first of the planes explode. Like in a trance he heard his boys cheer. "Yeah! One less!" someone shouted behind him. Michael was unable to share this happiness... yes, they had shot one plane, yes, this one wouldn't do any harm anymore, but also yes, the pilot would never return home, would leave mourning parents, or worse, a family of his own, behind. Another shot tore him from his thoughts and he saw that the second plane lost it's tail. It wouldn't stay in the air much longer, he thought, and the screaming of the motor told him he was right. The plane slowly lowered its nose and went straight down towards the mouth of the Elbe. Michael knew this would tear the machine apart in seconds and he caught himself praying the poor bastard in the cockpit would have a swift and painless death.

"Parachute!" was yelled from the tower and everyone looked up. In the searchlights a small white parachute was glowing. So the pilot had managed to escape his flying wreck in time. Hearing the plane smashing into the river Michael stared at the parachute and smiled. He grabbed the boy next to him. " Pick two men, scratch the pilot off the beach and bring him here. Alive! Understood?" "Yes, Sergeant." barked the boy and ran over the court. Michael was very proud. Two planes fought off tonight. That meant a beer for each man of the crew tomorrow. They deserved a reward for their good job.


	3. Chapter 3

Cuxhaven, September 4th 1939

'I'm really proud of my boys. Their commitment this morning was full of eagerness and devotion, not to mention their aiming skills. Two planes shot from the sky successfully. The Brits should reconsider to send their planes over Cuxhaven again.'

Michael nibbled nervously at the end of his pen. Should he mention the British pilot in his personal diary? And should he really tell the Headquarters about it? Somehow he couldn't do it. He remembered that his heart had already skipped a beat when his boys had brought him into the Fort, wet like a cat and sand encrusted.  
What Baby had they blown from the sky, he thought. He was small, sturdy and full of freckles, his face finely carved, almost with a feminine touch to it. An impression that was only enhanced by his cherryred lips and babyblue eyes. The dog tag around his neck identified him as Sgt. McAvoy and Michael had locked him up in the empty quarters of Lt. Janssen. In the mess he had ordered a can of hot coffee and had searched for some towels and blankets. The tide hadn't been high already, but still the young Sergeant must have been soaking wet and probably halfway frozen to death. A bit of christian love your next could do no harm.

The guard gave him a strange look when he arrived with towels and blankets under his arm. "Open the door, Private!" Michael barked and the young soldier obeyed, his eyes still full of questions. "The Sergeant is our prisoner, but that doesn't mean he needs to get Pneumonia, does it?" "No, Sir. Sorry, Sir." the boy mumbled and let Fassbender pass. "I ordered coffee. When Hein comes, then let him in, will you?" "Yes, Sir." the boy answered and locked the door behind Michael.  
The young british soldier looked up to him. He already got ridden of his soaking wet overall which was spread out on the floor to get dry in front of the heater. He himself was also sitting in front of the heater, rolled together like a ball, and tried to get warm. It was clear for Michael that this wouldn't work as long as he was still wearing his wet woolen underwear.

"Du solltest aus den nassen Klamotten raus." he said, putting the blankets on the bed and unfolding one of the towels. The young Sergeant didn't move a muscle. Michael knew he was not understood, but he kept trying with all warmth and compassion he could put into his voice. "Hier, zieh die nassen Sachen aus und trockne dich ab, dann kuschel dich in die Decken." he said and started tucking on his own uniform like he would take it off and then made rubbing motions over his arms and chest. His prisoner slowly stood up, eyeing him curiously and slightly tilting his head. Fassbender tried to show him again that he should undress and get dry and held out the towel towards him.  
Carefully he took the towel. Then he took off his shirt and Michael reached out to take it. He flinched when he felt the weight of the soaked wool. "Guter Gott..." he said and turned towards the sink to wring the cold water out of the wool. When he turned back he nearly let the shirt drop. His prisoner stood there like the Lord had created him and rubbed his brown hair dry. Seemed like he didn't know shame or decency.  
Michael cleared his throat, put the shirt over the backrest of a chair and picked up the soaked long johns to wring the water out of them. When Michael turned back again the boy had had the decency to wrap up in one of the blankets and was now sitting on the bed, watching Michael put the pants on the chair. "Thank you." he said.

There was a knock at the door and it was opened. Hein entered with a huge can of steaming hot coffee and some cups and put everything down on the table. Then he waited for more orders. Fassbender addressed his prisoner again. "Hast du Hunger? Möchtest du vielleicht etwas essen?" he asked and underlined his question with gestures for eating. "No, thank you, I'm not hungry." answered the young Brit and shook his head. Fassbender dismissed Hein with kind words and knocked for the guard to let him out. Then he poured two cups of coffee and addressed his prisoner once more.  
"Möchtest du Milch? Oder Zucker?" he asked. The Brit nodded both times, so Michael put milk and sugar into the coffee and handed it over cautiously. "Vorsicht, heiß." he said, but his prisoner only clenched his hands around the hot cup and started shivering.  
"That's very kind of you. I'm so fuckin' cold." he said and carefully started to slurp the beverage. "Das glaube ich, dass du durchgefroren bist." Michael said and also started sipping his coffee. Slowly the frozen blue lips of the Brit turned red again and his white cheeks got a bit rosy again. The coffee weaved it's magic. "Besser?" Michael asked. "Much better. Thank you." He gave Michael a warm smile and his blue eyes started to sparkle like the summer sky over the sea.  
Michael felt how his heart started to jump inside his chest. He liked this chap, Brit or not. He seemed to be an openhearted and nice guy and the way he introduced himself only showed this more. "I'm James. Nice to meet you." he said with shiny eyes. No rank, no number, just his first name as if they were two chaps meeting in a Pub.  
"Michael. Schön, dich kennenzulernen." Michael answered, sitting down next to James on the bed and reaching out his hand. James took Michael's hand and shook it. A shiver ran down Michael's spine and he lowered his gaze for a moment. He didn't know why, but the young Brit crawled under his skin with his sparkling eyes, his friendly smile, his soft rolling voice and his open trust towards him. He let go of James' hand and sipped his coffee, James followed his example and took another sip, too. Then his gaze started wandering over Michael's uniform.

"So you're a Sergeant, too. Like me." he said with a soft smile. "Are you the commanding officer here?" Michael didn't understand everything, but he understood 'commanding officer'. And since he was the Commander here 'til Janssen would decide to show up again, he nodded. James nodded, too and saluted him a bit mockingly. "My pleasure." he said. Michaelreturned the mocking salute and downed his coffee. Then he wiggled his cup and pointed towards the can. "Möchtest du noch einen Kaffee, James?" James followed his gesture and shook his head. "No, not yet. Thank you, Michael. You are a very kind man."

Hearing his name roll over James' lips sent another shiver down his spine and he would have given anything to understand what James had said. He looked on his watch and put his empty cup down on the table. It was time that he got back to bed. Tomorrow was more time to get busy with his prisoner. "In Ordnung, James. Es ist spät und du wirst erschöpft sein. Wenn du etwas brauchst, dann klopf an die Tür." He underlined his words with gestures for eating, drinking and knocking at the door. "Verstehst du mich?"  
James tilted his head and slowly licked his lips, his eyes asking silent questions. Fassbender tried it more simple. "Du..." he said, pointing towards James, "essen... trinken..." he proceeded and made gestures for eating and drinking. Then he turned towards the door and knocked on the wood. "Klopfen." James' face lit up. "I understand. I'll knock when I need something." Michael smiled and turned towards the door. "Erm... Michael?" "Ja, James?"  
James looked over to his overall, then back to Michael and wiggled with a corner of the blanket. "Some clothes would be nice. That shit will need days to dry properly, I'm afraid." he said and looked apologetic. Michael needed a second to process his words and gestures. "Oh, sicher... du brauchst was zum Anziehen." He unfolded the second blanket and gave it to James.  
"Tut mir leid, aber vor morgen kann ich dir nicht helfen." James' gaze told him he did not understand, so Michael pointed to a number on his watch. "Morgen." he said and let his finger follow the dial. "Oh, okay... tomorrow then." James said smiling and reached out his hand. Michael took it and slightly squeezed it. "Thank you, Michael. For your kindness and everything." Michael smiled back to him and let go of his hand. "Gute Nacht, James." "Good night, Michael." He knocked at the door and the guard opened to let him out.

"If he knocks, then tell me. No matter, when, even when you have to throw me out of bed. And nobody gets in without my permission, understood?" "Yes, Sir." "Next shift comes in two hours. You'll tell him my orders exactly as I have told you, understood?" "Yes, Sergeant. Exactly as you told me." "Good boy. See you tomorrow for the appeal then." Michael said and went to his own quarters. When he closed his door he could hear the guard lock up James' door again.


	4. Chapter 4

Cuxhaven, September 4th 1939

'The young Sergeant seems to be a nice guy. He seems to trust me and for now I won't report him to HQ. Okay, they would send a translator because neither I nor one of my crew can speak English, but I also know only too well, that this would bring up the Gestapo. And then James would end up in a Gestapo prison or a Stalag. I don't even want to think about this. I know it in my heart that James won't make it there... it will break him, I feel it. And I can't let that happen. What is he doing to me? I just know him for a few hours, but he feels like the brother I never had. Heaven, help me... this will make me a traitor... and worse, I'm dragging my boys into this mess, too... may the Lord forgive me for this.'

Desperately he threw his pen against the wall and slammed his diary shut. This was insanity. It would never work. And he couldn't expect this from his crew. The whole idea was simply mad and it didn't get better the longer he thought about it. Someone would talk, no matter how hard he swore the boys in and no matter what he told them. And it was impossible to let James vanish as well. Too many had seen him when he had been brought in last night.  
Michael cursed his christian education and his soft heart. Anyone else would have reported James and had given a shit about his further fate. But not him. He had two hours time before the daily appeal. He would figure something out. For now he decided, that he would gather some clothes for his captive and spend him another visit. If he was still sleeping Michael would just put the clothes on a chair and leave again. Fortunately they had a small magazine for clothes since working on the cannon sometimes required replacement.

"Anything happened last night?" he asked the guard and the boy shook his head while unlocking the door. "No, Sir." he answered and locked the door again after Michael had entered. Despite his expectations James was already awake and looking out of the small window of his quarter... again nude as Adam himself. He turned towards Michael when he entered. Michael cleared his throat and glanced sideways. "Guten Morgen, James." he said and slowly walked towards him, trying to look straight at his face while he handed him the clothes. "Ich hoffe, die Größe ist in Ordnung." he said and smiled. James saw the clothes and took them with beaming eyes, smiling back to Michael. "Good morning, Michael. Thank you so much for bringing me some clothes. The blanket was quite scratchy, to be honest." Now it was Michael tilting his head and frowning his brows. James took a corner of the blanket and rubbed his chest before he dropped it and and scratched the same spot on his chest emphatically.  
"Oh... oh, ja... Tut mir leid. Wir spüren das schon garnicht mehr." he answered with a crooked smile. Then he turned his back towards James so he could get dressed. He heard the rustling of fabric and a suppressed chuckle. "You don't need to turn away... I'm not shy." Michael stayed where he was. James in an Adam's dress was too disturbing and by far too beautiful to look at longer as necessary. "I see, you are the chaste one, then. But you can turn around now." James tenderly touched Michael's shoulder and he turned aroung again. Seemed like he had mismeasured him a bit. The undershirt fit him well, but the trousers were a bit tighter than would have been normal.

"Are you alright, Michael?" James asked and the smile on his lips slowly died. He grabbed Michael's wrist, pulled him a bit closer and gently pushed his shoulders down 'til Michael was sitting on the chair. "You are so pale all of a sudden. Are you sick?"  
James put the back of his hand against Michael's forehead and watched him worryingly. Michael pulled back his head. "Ich bin nicht krank." he growled and felt shame and anger boiling up inside him. Was James not aware that the way he looked like was disturbing? He looked so much like a creature from the fairytales his mother told him as a child and so much like a heavenly creature he had always imagined when he went to church as a child that Michael's heart swelled in his chest. And if he was already feeling this way, how would a girl feel in his place? Michael pushed these thoughts aside and rose from the chair.  
James stepped back from him and lowered his gaze apologetically. "I'm sorry. I was only worried. I promise, I won't touch you again, Michael. I didn't mean to startle you." he said and rose his hands. Michael grabbed the uniform shirt and threw it in James' direction. "Zieh dich an. Du machst mich nervös mit deiner Schamlosigkeit." he growled and turned around again. "Shameless? Me?" he heard James laugh. "Heavens, you Germans must be really prudish."  
Michael understood enough to turn around again, glaring full of hurt pride. "Ich bin nicht prüde! Aber ich weiß, was Anstand ist!" he yelled and James stared at him with his big blue eyes. Then he smiled softly and a light blush covered his pale cheeks, but he remained silent. "Verrückter Engländer." Michael mumbled and rubbed his face with his hands, but now it was James to yell at him. "Scottish!" His face and his eyes were burning with anger and Michael stepped back from him instinctively, raising his hands. "Hey, ruhig, Brauner. Von mir aus, dann halt verrückter Schotte." He slowly sat down on the chair again and gestured James to sit as well. James followed the gesture, but his face showed he still was deathly offended.

"Du bist also Schotte, ja? Du, scottish?" he asked and James nodded."Wo kommst du her?" James tilted his head and Michael changed his approach. He pointed towards himself and said: "Heidelberg." "Oh, where I'm from... Glasgow." Michael nodded.  
Everything he knew about Scotland flooded his mind, which wasn't much: Edinburgh, Glasgow, Loch Ness, Whisky and Kilts, that was all he knew. And he kicked himself for the prejudices that also entered his mind unbidden. Of course the Scots weren't a people of half wild men wearing long hair, struppy beards and skirts. James was the best example against this. James spoke and Michael's train of thoughts was broken. "My turn. How old are you, Michael?" he asked, pointing on himself and showing Michael a 23 with both hands. Michael understood and showed him a 25. He would never have guessed James was even above 20 with his cute boyish face. But when he thought about it it was only logical because otherwise it would have been impossible for James to be a pilot and a Sergeant.  
'Never judge a book by it's cover.' he thought and again his need to protect James washed over him. The more he talked to him, the less he wanted to report him. And still he had no idea how he was supposed to manage that.


	5. Chapter 5

Cuxhaven, September 4th 1939

'Stupid idiot that I am! How could I even think this was going to work? Of course the nightshift did it's duty and reported to Headquarters. A full report: Two planes down, one pilot captive. Two hours ago Lt. Cmdr. Janssen showed up, having a translator and some high ranked Gestapo-guy on his heels. First thing he did was to put the young Scot to the glasshouse and tearing my head off for letting a captured enemy wear a german uniform and handling him like a guest.  
Of course I "begged" his pardon for it and did my best do look penitent while I tried to explain that I only wanted to keep our captive safe and in healthy condition after fishing him out of the sea in the middle of the night and that surely he wouldn't expect me to lock up the captive all nude.  
Damn, how I hate it to grovel before these incapable officers, but I know it feeds his vanity. Damn it, if only I could have done more for James. The fact that this Gestapo officer is nosing around here is absolutely not good at all...'

Cuxhaven, September 6th 1939

'The last two days were worse than Hell. Major Müller from the Gestapo ordered a specialist for "interrogating this stubborn prisoner", as he calls it. While waiting he interrogated me, asked me a whole lot of questions concerning the enemy planes and how we shot them and how we scratched James from the beach and especially my questionable behaviour towards the prisoner. The English being a prisoner, not a guest and so forth... I could just bite my tongue in time before I could say "Scottish".  
I'm already on Müller's black list, I feel it in my bones. He interrogated at least half of my crew, so I'm pretty sure he already made his decision in his narrow-minded little head. If I'm very very lucky I might only come to a re-education camp...  
if not I can make my last will... for treason and fraternizing with the enemy... only because I treated James like a human being! Poor James. He's still locked in the glasshouse, but I know he gets everything he needs. I have to keep distance to him. My own boys have order to report me if I get closer than 10 steps. At least tiny Andresen had the guts to tell me this.  
My poor boys... what is this Gestapo-bastard doing to you?'

Cuxhaven, September 8th 1939

'Müller was here again... with his "specialist". That guy looks more like a Boxer... presumably he really was one. Broad as a door, a more or less dead face with a nose that was broken several times and hands that don't deserve this name. Paws would be more suiting. I don't even want to think about it what damage he can do with them... or worse, what damage he has done to James with them.  
But James is either goddamn strong or goddamn stubborn if he was able to resist this monster for three days. Now he shall "convince me" to try my luck with James, because the "Englishman" seems "to trust" me and he, Müller, could "do something for me if I was willing to cooperate". As if I was judged already... and as if I would need the motivation. I'd do anything to spare James of more pain and damage! Never before have I met someone that put me under his spell that fast...  
I thought a lot about that these last days and about why I feel like this. And I still can't explain it. James simply feels like he is my baby brother. I don't care if he's English, German or Scottish or whatever. I'll do Müller's bidding and I can only pray that I won't sign James' death sentence with it...'

Late in the afternoon Fassbender was brought to the mess where the interrogation was supposed to take place. Müller had given him several questions on a piece of paper which Michael was supposed to get answers to and had left him with the translator, Ulrike Schneider as she introduced herself with an eager 'H**l Hi**er', and the 'boxer' who was only called Ulf. He stood silently behind Michael and Michael couldn't say he was happy with this, but he didn't say a word. The double door flew open and a tied up James was dragged in by two of Michael's men and pushed harshly onto the chair. "That's enough! Untie him and get out." Michael ordered with icy voice. "But, Sergeant..." said one of them, the young Private Steiger, but Michael cut his words off.  
"Do as I say. You know, I'm a quiet and friendly man, Steiger, but there is one thing I do NOT tolerate. Insubordination!" Both boys flinched, as did James, deeply bowing his head and lifting his shoulders for protection. "The prisoner won't try to attack me. So untie him and then get out. Now!" he yelled and Steiger obeyed, untied James and left the room with his comrade. Michael inhaled sharply and turned his attention towards James. He was still shrunken on his chair, embracing himself, head deeply bowed and shivering head to toe.

"Sergeant McAvoy?" Michael addressed him, but James didn't react. It was now that Michael saw the blood on his shirt. He rose so fast from his chair that it fell back and loudly hit the floor. James flinched and Michael heard a small whimper. Fassbender didn't bother to walk around the table, he just flanked over it and kneeled down before James, his hand gently touching James' knee. "James? James, ich bin es... Michael..." he said softly, trying to pronounce his name like James did. "Bitte sieh mich an, James." He tried to talk as gently as he could and tenderly squeezed James' thigh, but he still didn't respond. Michael ordered Schneider to do what she was here for and, "goddamnit" translate him. She obliged and started to do her job.  
Michael slowly reached for James' hands, putting them over his on his shoulders. "Please, James. Please look at me." Schneider's english was good, but Michael disliked the lack of emotion she had. So he would try to put all his heart and all his warmth into his words, hoping James would feel it that Michael was not here to harm him. "Please don't let me think you don't trust me anymore, James. I'm still your friend and I'm begging you to look at me."  
James' head flew up, his beautiful face a bloody grimace of pain and anger. Michael backed off and he felt tears burning in his eyes. James' lower lip was split, his eyebrow, too. One of his babyblue eyes was black and swollen and the bridge of his nose seemed to be broken, but Michael wasn't sure because the blood had dried on James' face, making it impossible to see how severe he was hurt.

"My friend? How dare you, you bloody Nazi bastard." he growled and spit bloodred saliva into Michael's face. The Boxer started to move, but Michael harshly ordered him to stay where he was, having caused enough damage. Ulf nodded obediently and stepped back to his place behind Schneider. Michael turned back to James, still on his knees, the spit still on his face. He didn't bother to wipe it away, he deserved this humiliation, but he was determined to do everything to win back James' trust. "I swear I had no part in these... Gestapo-methods, James... If I had the power I had never allowed this to happen. Please, believe me, James. I beg you to believe me... and to forgive me that I couldn't protect you from... this."  
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, waiting... Then he felt James' moving his hands and how he put them over Michael's. "I'm sorry I called you a bastard... and that I spat in your face. I know you always were good and kind towards me, Michael." Hearing his name Michael looked up into James' bright blue eye and felt a hot tear roll over his cheek. He stood up and opened the door. "Go and fetch the paramedic. And you'll bring water and glasses. Now!" he barked and returned to James. Seeing the puzzled look on Schneider's face he said: "I have full freedom of action from Müller. First we take care of his wounds. Until now I had the best experiences with kindness and trust and I intend to continue that way. I'm pretty sure I'll have more success with this than he had." Schneider nodded. "Then proceed, Sergeant." Michael leant against the edge of the table and waited for the paramedic and Private Steiger.

"Oh holy shit..." said the paramedic when he saw James' face. He sat down on the table and slowly started to clean his face as gentle as possible. The split lip only looked half as bad now, the split eyebrow could be repaired with an adhesive plaster. Then he looked at James apologetically. "Das wird jetzt weh tun." he said and turned to Michael. "Halten sie seinen Kopf fest, Wachtmeister. Ich muss das Nasenbein richten." Michael nodded and gestured Schneider to translate.  
"James, I must pin your head now. The paramedic will try to straighten your nose again and he says, that this will hurt. Are you okay with this?" James looked up to the paramedic, who was smiling encouragingly, and then to Michael. "I trust you. Let's do this."  
Michael stepped behind him, leaning James' head against his body, putting one hand under his chin and the other on his forehead to keep him in place firmly. "Like this?" he asked and the paramedic nodded, carefully touching the bridge of James' nose. James flinched and suppressed a moan. "Shhh, James... shhh." Michael soothed him and the paramedic started counting down. "3... 2... 1... now!"  
James screamed and tried to get away, but Michael's grip was like steel. Quickly the paramedic put another plaster over James' nose and quickly pulled his hands away. "That's it." Michael loosened his grip and his long fingers slowly ran through James' brown hair. He bowed down to his ear. "Alles ist gut, James... alles gut." he whispered tenderly. James relaxed and Michael went to the table, pouring a glass of water for him.  
"Thank you, Jan. I think, that was all for now. You're dismissed." The paramedic saluted and left the mess. Michael put his hand on James' shoulder. "Are you alright? You look terribly pale." He gave James the glass. "Could be worse. I think I'll survive it." James answered and drank some water. Michael didn't miss the mischievous sparkle in his eye. He suppressed a grin and returned to his chair.  
"Okay, James. Then let's get down to business. I have to tell you that this will be a formal interrogation for the Wehrmacht and the Gestapo. But before we start I want you to know this. I don't do this because I want to hurt you... or to get hurt again... or because I dislike you in any way. The opposite is the case. And I do this because I do it for myself... because the Gestapo seems to believe that I'm a traitor or fraternizing with you in any possible way."

"What are you doing, Sergeant Fassbender?" Schneider interrupted him. "It's your job to translate and not to question my methods, Schneider. I already told you I learned more about Sergeant McAvoy in one day than your boss and his specialist in three. So I'll handle the interrogation the way I want it." Schneider glared at him. "As you wish. But this won't leave a positive impression in your case." "That is my problem, not yours. Now let me proceed. And I dare you interrupting me once again." Schneider nodded and he turned to James again.  
"So, will you help me and answer some questions?" "I will help you... at least with questions I am able to answer." "Well, that's the nature of the thing, isn't it? Let's start then. Your full name and rank, please." "James McAvoy, Sergeant of the Royal Air Force." "Thank you. Place and date of birth?" "Glasgow, Scotland, April 21st 1916." Michael wrote down his answers. "When did you join the British Forces?" "Three years ago, first serving in Scotland, later in Kent." He looked into Michael's eyes and his smile shifted from friendly to business. "You'll understand that I can't and won't go into further detail here. Not even for you, Michael."  
Michael realized that James' warm voice grew colder. Even his blue eye looked more like ice now, but Michael didn't want to show he realized it. "If you did I'd consider you to be a total moron. Of course I understand that. I wouldn't tell you either if I were in your place." he answered with his warmest smile. "Where were you and your comrade, may he rest in peace, heading the night we caught you?" "I'm not allowed to give you this information, Sergeant Fassbender." Michael's head flew up and their eyes locked. James had crossed the arms before his chest and had leant back against the backrest of the chair. Gestural withdrawal. James closed down.  
"So I'm Sergeant Fassbender for you now." He rose from his chair and walked aroung the table, the hands behind his back. James' eyes followed him and Michael saw him crossing his legs. He sat down on the edge of the table, gazing cooly down on him, knowing perfectly well that James was now forced to look up to him. "This game can be played by two, Sergeant McAvoy." he said, his voice now charming as well as seducing. "And don't undersetimate my intelligence. There can't be many targets for a first raid in this area, you know. Bremerhaven, for example." James remained silent, but Michael saw the small twitch of contempt in the corner of his mouth.  
Not Bremerhaven, then. That made Bremen fall off the list as well. He was 95% sure now what the potential aim was. "Well, I guess you were heading for Hamburg then, weren't you?" Again James didn't answer, but Michael saw the small flinch that rolled through his body. Gotcha!

"Thank you, Sergeant McAvoy." he said and reached for his paper to write it down. "I never want to play cards with you. You're a lousy liar." James was puzzled. "Well, I prefer chess. But for the records, Sergeant Fassbender, I didn't answer your question. So what makes you think you have the answer?" "Don't worry, Sergeant. You answered perfectly. There are other ways to answer than words." Michael said and looked into James' eye. James slowly licked his lips while he lowered his gaze and opened his arms again. The fortress was crumbling.  
"Well, are we done then? Your Gestapomajor never asked more than this." "Yes, we are done, Sergeant McAvoy." Michael said and handed Schneider his notes. James face softened. "What will happen now? What will you do with me, Michael?"  
James sounded differently, his dark rolling voice now a bit shaky, and Michael turned back to him again. James had turned pale again and he shivered a bit. "I don't know. Procedure is that I keep you arrested until you're brought somewhere else. When or where that will be... I don't know. I'm just an artillery Sergeant, so things like these are none of my business."  
Michael felt that his words didn't just hurt James, but also himself. And he didn't dare to think about what might happen to him in a StaLag when he was already tortured during an interrogation. Michael dearly wanted to tell him something comforting, but he couldn't. He knew Schneider would report everything to Müller and he couldn't let that happen. He had to stop here before his emotions rebelled.  
Fassbender called the guards in and ordered them to bring James back to the glasshouse. Then he turned to Schneider and Ulf. "I hope, Müller will be pleased now. You're dismissed." Schneider and Ulf barked their "H**l Hi**er" and left the mess.


	6. Chapter 6

Cuxhaven, September 9th 1939

'I didn't sleep well... in fact not at all. I mean, I'm rid of Müller's accusations now, but that is the only good news. He wants to get me into Intelligence because of my "splendid success"... as interrogation specialist. What an irony... a real life satire... I, of all other options. I, who couldn't even harm a fly, am supposed to interrogate captives. I would be extremely talented, said Müller, and my commanding officer also simply loved the idea. He congratulated me and told me, that now a promotion surely would be coming my way... all of this bought with James' suffering. He'll be brought to StaLag X-B near Bremen soon and I'll be moved soon either, don't know yet, where... I need to say goodbye to him... I must... Maybe we'll never see each other again...'

Tiny Andresen had the night's guard at the glasshouse and he had promised Fassbender to sneak him in as long as he could manage. Michael had hugged him tightly and had promised him a beer for tomorrow. Changing guards was at midnight and shortly after Michael sneaked through every possible dark corner to stay invisible. With utmost silence Andresen unlocked the door, let him slip in and locked the door again. It was almost pitch black in the glasshouse, the only light coming from the moon through a small barred window. He guessed where James' face was, sneaked closer and pressed his hand on James' mouth to keep him from screaming. James jerked up, but Michael kept him firmly in place. "Shhh... James... ich bin's... Michael." he whispered and James relaxed.  
Michael slowly withdrew his hand and sat down on the corner of the mattress. He could see James' eyes shine silvery in the moonlight. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" he whispered and Michael desperately wished he would understand him better. And he hoped, that he would remember some of the words from the interrogation earlier correctly. "Forgive me." he whispered hoarsely while he tried to suppress a sob. James sat up beside him. "Forgive you what? The interrogation?" he asked. Michael nodded and glanced away.

"There is nothing to forgive. You did, what you had to do. You even told me, why you did it and I understand your motives. Plus, you were kind towards me, took care of my wounds... showing me you have a heart... that you care." Michael felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and instinctively understood what James tried to tell him with so many words: That james wasn't mad at him and that he was forgiven. He felt the leaden weight tumble from his soul and looked at James. "Danke, James... erm... ssank you so much." he tried and flinched because of his own heavy accent. James gently rubbed his shoulder and smiled. "You're welcome, Michael."  
He felt a tear fall from the corner of his eye when he heard James' kindness. Then he grabbed a small piece of paper out of his pocket and put it into James' other hand. "what is this?" "Eine Adresse. Meine Eltern... in Heidelberg." "An address in Heidelberg?" "Yes. mein Vater und meine Mutter. Wenn der Krieg vorbei ist... und wir dann noch leben... ich möchte, dass du ihnen dann schreibst."  
"Your parents' address? Why? I don't understand the meaning of this" James said, tilting his head again. Michael again wished desperately he would be able to speak English. He had to put more effort into his explanation to make James understand what he had planned. He would include hands and feet into his efforts now and keep it as simple as possible. Maybe that would help.

"Weil... because? Because you, James... Freund..." He took James' hand and put it on his heart. "Mein Freund... yes?" He knew there had been a word for this during interrogation, but he couldn't remember by the life of him. James licked his lips again, pensively. Michael put his hand on James' heart and James' hand over his, repeating: "You... mein Freund. Please."  
"Friends? You want to be friends with me?" James asked and Michael nodded. "Yes... friends... Freunde." he said and smiled when he saw James nodding. "Und wenn Krieg... Ende... " he started to stutter and begged that James would understand. "Krieg... Ende..." James murmured, trying to process what Michael was saying. "Ende... ends... when the Krieg ends... Oh, got it. When the war is over. Okay, Michael, I think I understand you."  
He withdrew his hands to help him show Michael, that he understood. "So, you give me your parents' address to contact them after the war, right? So we maybe can write each other, yes?" Michael admired James' ability to communicate with his hands. He understood James perfectly. "Yes... write each other." he repeated and smiled. James nodded, smiling too, and asked Michael for a pen. Michael shook his head but rose and sneaked to the door. "Andresen... Andresen... fetch me a pen and a piece of paper, please." he whispered through the small barred hole in the door and a few minutes later Andresen passed it through. He gave it to James and he slowly started to write in the light of the moon. Then he folded the paper and handed it back with the pen.

"My Grandda and Grandma's address in Glasgow. Write to them when the war is over." Michael's heart swelled and he embraced James. "Das werde ich, James. Ich danke dir. Warum musste ich dich unter diesen Umständen kennen lernen? Du bist etwas Besonderes." he whispered and fought against the lump in his throat when James returned the hug firmly. "I hope to see you again, Michael. Maybe, when the war is over, we'll share a pint of beer. I'd like to know you better... I really would."  
They might not understand each other's words, but their hearts understood and both men felt the hurt inside their chests. The gentle knock on the door brought them back to reality. "Fassbender... you need to get out there..." Andresen whispered through the door. Michael slowly withdrew from the hug. "Ich muss gehen, James. Morgen bringt man dich nach Bremen. Ich hoffe und bete, dass du gut behandelt wirst." he said, taking James' hands into his own and kissed his fingers.  
He felt tears burning in his eyes when saying: "Lebwohl, James." "Goodbye, Michael. And take good care of yourself. I'll be happy to see you again." James answered and Michael saw tears glisten in his eyes as well. Then he slowly went to the door.  
"Okay, Andresen. Let me out." he whispered and Andresen obliged, silently opening and closing the door. Michael sneaked back through the blind spots. When he woke up the next day, James had already been moved to Bremen. Michael could just manage the appeal before he retired to his quarters and wept silently.


	7. Chapter 7

Hemer, April 21st 1946

'War is over... finally. And we lost it. Maybe it is better this way, especially after knowing much more things than before... and especially after experiencing some of it myself. At the beginning of April I was moved to Camp Roosevelt for re-education.  
The joke in this is, that Camp Roosevelt, named by the Americans after freeing it, and which is now run by the British, used to be one of our own StaLags... StaLag VI-A. And after I saw what was all left behind by the soviet captives, that were held here like animals, then I don't even want to imagine what my people did to them... or to the captives in other StaLags or Concentration Camps. Am I really part of this... a part of this people of beasts? Hitler and his people dropped the poison of racial theory into our ears so long... their theses about the "Master Race" and the "Subhuman Beings"... but we were the true subhuman beings.  
We weren't even human beings at all. Since the war has ended one year ago I regret it more and more each day, that I ended up working for the Gestapo. I pat my own shoulder for years for handling persons during interrogation like people... like human beings... bringing results without torture... but what was the actual result of this?  
Who wasn't executed as "Enemy of the Reich" was brought to the camps. So what was the more mercyful way of dying? A swift execution or slowly dying by hunger, illness and exhaustion? And I was part of this. Because of me people were silenced that spoke the truth, who wanted this country to wake up and see what was happening. And what might have become of the war captives over the years? What might have happened to James? In case he survived the war he would be turning 30 today. Every single year on this day I was thinking of him... praying he would still be alive... If I just weren't such a damn coward! I promised to write his grandparents after war, but I never had the guts to really do it. What, if...'

He closed his diary. Since Cuxhaven he had never written in it again. The memory hurt too much. The meory of James, that still lived in his heart, even now, after seven years. Michael still wasn't able to explain why the young scottish Sergeant owned his heart... or why he had felt the need to adopt him as baby brother the first moment he saw him. Had it been the boyish angelic face or was it because James had looked like a drowned little kitten? He might never figure it out. But he knew one thing for sure: He would never be able to forget these skyblue eyes.  
"Fassbender?" Michael flinched, being torn from his thoughts. One of the guards had addressed him. "Yes, Sir?" "You've got a visitor. The Commander wishes for your presence in his office." Michael was surprised. Who would visit him here? Only his family knew he was here. He and his mother corresponded eagerly, but she hadn't mentioned anything in her last letter. Thinking about it, how could she? It had been a letter to his birthday and it had been before he was moved here. He had written the last letter about two week ago, telling her he was moved here and sending her the new address. Maybe something had happened she didn't want to write in a letter?  
Michael rose from his chair and put his jacket on. In the Sauerland it used to be rainy and chilly at this time of the year. "Thank you, Sir. I'm coming with you." Michael said and followed the guard.

He knocked and opened the door. "Lt. Higgins? Prisoner Fassbender's here." "Thank you, Private. Let him in." "Aye, Sir." answered the guard and let Michael pass, closing the door behind him. "You wished to see me, Sir." Michael said and a second later his jaw dropped. The soldier sitting across the Commander's desk rose and turned towards him. Michael's knees were about to give in.  
"James? Is this... Bist du es wirklich?" His small english vocabulary passed out and he started to sway on his feet. With two long strides James reached him and caught him for support. "Hi, Michael." he said and helped Michael fall down on the chair. "You better sit down before you pass out, dear." he said with a worrying smile. The Lieutenant passed a glass over to James and James put it to Michael's lips. "Trink, dann geht es dir besser." Once more Michael's jaw dropped and he stared at James like he was a ghost.  
"Hat dir schonmal jemand gesagt, dass du so wie ein Barsch aussiehst? Jetzt trink." Michael laughed and emptied the glass. It was so cute to hear James speak German with this heavy Scottish accent of his. "Besser?" asked James. "Much better. Thank you." Michael replied and put the glass back on the desk. "By the way... Happy Birthday, James." he said, rising from the chair and hugging James firmly. James returned the embrace. "You remember? After all those years?" he asked puzzled. "I do. And I also remember that you turn 30 today." James withdrew from the hug and stared at Michael.  
"Oh, I had no idea. My congratulations, Lt. McAvoy." said Higgins and poured three glasses of Brandy, giving Michael and James one each and raising his own. "To the new year." he said. "Auf deine Gesundheit." Michael said and they drank. "Well, thank you very much, Lt. Higgins." James said, a slight blush on his still pale cheeks. "It seems like the two of you have an awful lot to talk about. You have my allowance to do so at the officer's mess." James thanked him and saluted. Then Michael lead him the way.

"Lt. McAvoy. Wow. When did that happen? And when did you learn German?" Michael asked. "You learn an awful lot of things in a german camp, my friend." Michael lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry. I can only hope you were treated well." "Oh, don't be. They did. They even exchanged me and some comrades for german war captives. Was sometime in 42, I think. So I got back home for service, which made some promotions happen. Well, this last one was for leading the air raids on Cologne and Dresden." James answered, his voice becoming gloomy when he mentioned the air raids.  
"You were part of this... this carnage?" Michael snapped. Now it was James to lower his head in shame. "Can't say I'm proud of it... especially not Dresden. You're right, it was a carnage. No important military target at all, but I followed my order... and I'm sorry for it." Michael patted his shoulder. "I think, we both have committed many sins the last years. The war always brings the bad things in us up, never the good ones." James sighed and nodded silently. Then he looked back at Michael. "And what brought you here? When we parted you were an Artillery Sergeant. Why did they move you to a re-education camp, Michael?" "Well... after we parted I became an interrogation specialist... for Intelligence and Gestapo."  
James nearly dropped his glass of beer. "Are you kidding me? You kind man working for those bastards?" "I assure you, I don't. After your interrogation I was offered the job... well, precisely I was commanded to do the job. Because of my kindness and my ability to read people's tells. Remember when you refused to tell me you were heading to Hamburg?" "I do... and I never figured it out how you managed to guess it correctly. Because it was, now I can tell you this. I was totally baffled... and still am." "Your lips didn't tell me, but your body did. Even your face did. You tensed up, only slightly, but that was enough for me to be sure."

James leant back and took a sip pensively. "Wow... that's damn incredible. Now I understand why they picked you for the job. You didn't need to use physical force." Michael's eyes slowly scanned James' face. "It's nice to see your babyface still looks like the first night I saw you. Would have been a waste to destroy it." Michael said and smiled, taking a sip, too. "You call ME babyface? And what about you? You still look like 25. How old are you now? 31? 32?" "32... since three weeks. April second." "Wow, belated congrats, mate." James said and ordered two more beers. He clinked glasses with Michael. "To our birthdays, then." he said and took a big sip.  
"I'm a bit sad, you know." James said and put his glass down. "You promised me to write when the war is over... but my grandparents never received a letter from you. If I hadn't contacted your parents I might never have found you. Do you have any idea how many Fassbenders there are in Germany?" Michael glanced away.  
"Oh, James, I'm sorry. I was too afraid to do it. So often I thought what if you hadn't survived the war? Even today, when the guard fetched me, I was thinking about it again. I couldn't have borne it to know you might be dead... and that it would have been my fault." "Your fault? What are you, stupid? I was to raid Hamburg, you guys shot me from the sky and handed me to the authorities. If it had been the other way 'round I would've done the same."  
"But it wouldn't have meant the same. Do you have any idea how many people died in the camps? The "normal" camps that is, not the concentration camps. And under what ghastly circumstances?" Michael's face was malformed in disgust and he downed his beer.

"And since you asked what I'm doing in a re-education camp... I'm being re-educated. And rightfully so. Many of my people should be, if you ask me. Disgusting people of animal we are... beasts, that need to be tamed." James took the empty glass out of Michael's hands and ordered a water. "Don't patronize me. I'm not drunk. Well, not yet... and surely not enough." James' hand hit his face.  
"Shut up, you stupid man. And stop chastizing yourself. You surely are one of the nicest and kindest german people I ever came across. And I dare you to tell me something different. And your parents are so nice people, too. They were so kind to me when I visited them and so eager to know how we met each other. Your Mom even cried when I told her how kind you had been towards me... just like you're doing now. And your Dad was really proud of you."  
Michael stared at him and his hands searched for the glass of water. "Du hast... You... you visited... my parents?!" he stuttered. "I think I just said so." "But... when? Why didn't they tell me?" "Because I asked them not to tell you. I wanted to surprise you. I visited them last week and promised them that I'll try to get you out of here and bring you home again. And the paperwork is nearly done. If things go as I think you might be home next week."  
The glass slipped out of Michael's hand and shattered on the floor. His english passed out again. "Was? Wie hast du das angestellt? Und warum?" he asked, his thoughts rampaging through his head. "Well, the "How" was quite easy. All you need is a discloure to shorten or end the re-education. That is, what I made for you."  
"Sorry, a what?" "A positive character reference. I think you call it a ... Lumonds... zugnis?" "Leumundszeugnis." Michael corrected. "Thank you. Words like these will be my downfall." James said and emptied his beer. Michael chuckled. "That and your charming accent." James cracked up. "yeah, well... And you asked for the "Why". Because that is, what friends do. You wanted to be my friend the last night we met... and wanted me to be yours... without prejudices, without conditions, although you hardly knew me. That touched me very deeply, you know. And I swore one thing to myself: If I could ever do anything for you, then I would, no matter what. So, here I am." He reached into his pocket and gave Michael a handkerchief. "Here, take this. I can't see you cry any longer."

Michael took it and wiped the tears away. He hadn't even realized he was crying. His heart felt like it would tear his chest apart any second. "James, ich... I... I don't know, what to say. Nobody ever did something like this for me... nobody ever did anything for me, except my family. And the minute I saw you, you felt like my little brother needing protection. That's why I was so caring. Somehow I... I loved you from the first moment... if that makes any sense... I can't explain it better, you know... I never really understood it myself." He wiped his face once more and saw James smiling. James took Michael's hands in his and their eyes met.  
"It's the most adorable thing I ever heard, Michael. And I'm happy. I always wanted to have a caring big brother." Michael kissed his fingers and leant their foreheads together. "So I have a baby brother now. Welcome to the family, James." He looked up into James' eyes. "Do you still play chess?"

The End


End file.
